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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29220936">surface tension</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mathonwys/pseuds/mathonwys'>mathonwys</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Experimental Build [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>HLVRAI - Fandom, Half-Life VR but the AI is Self-Aware - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Support Coomer, Experimental Build AU, Gen, Post-Game, Swearing, They/Themrey, johndon playerman needs help</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:36:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,867</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29220936</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mathonwys/pseuds/mathonwys</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Gordon,” Dr. Coomer said in a gentle tone he reserved for rare occasions, “sometimes it is difficult to speak to the ones you care about.”<br/>-<br/>time's passed since John beat the game. he knew his life wasn't going to return to normal, especially not with the Science Team around, but he didn't expect how quickly he got used to it.</p><p>he also didn't expect to have a breakdown in a 7-11 after his best friend told him they'd ruined his life on purpose.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Experimental Build [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2145402</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>surface tension</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>originally i wasn't going to post this, but i still get a lot of positive responses to "early access" and like,, i did write more of this au, technically speaking,, SO--</p><p>this was written for my Monster Of The Week group that i ended up playing Johndon in after some shenanigans, so there's some references to the campaign that don't make a whole lot of sense. the last four paragraphs especially are referencing a) the first session i did as johndon and b) another fic i wrote with my roommate (who also created Az) where john got to talk to another party member about how his life sucks</p><p>uhhhhhhhhh sorry if this is not the follow up yall were expecting / hoping for, this is like over half a year old and i never went anywhere with my other wips</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>    The first thing John did when he got home was tear off his winter coat and throw his phone down on his bed. The second thing John did when he got home was grab his pillow and scream into it very, very loudly.</p><p>    His neighbours were probably wondering what the hell his problem was, at this point. John did a <em> lot </em> of yelling. Usually it was because of the Science Team getting on his nerves, or him getting stressed to the point of forgetting how to use his People Words and relying on wordless screeching until he calmed down enough to try again. Somehow he hadn’t gotten any noise complaints, and that was great, because he had no idea how he was going to explain literally any of this to anyone.</p><p>    Except, oh wait, he <em> had </em> tried to explain literally any of this to anyone, and it turned out that not only had they known all along but that they were some sort of fucked up nonhuman entity that had inserted themself into his life, given him the game that scrambled his sense of self permanently, and justified it by saying they wanted to give him someone to blame when everything went wrong.</p><p>    Okay, yeah, he was screaming again.</p><p>    “Mr. Freeman?” Tommy’s voice wavered out from his phone. John shot the device a practiced death glare, but also it was Tommy and, as much friction as there was between him and most of the Science Team, he could never stay mad at Tommy. Tommy was a good boy. ...And also ten years older than him. Right. Somehow that was easy to forget. “What’s— What’s the matter?”</p><p>    “What’s the <em> matter</em>?!” John’s tone was knife-sharp. “That <em> friend </em> you guys told me I could talk to was— is— Where do I even <em> begin</em>? I have no idea where to fucking start with this! They’re an <em> asshole</em>!”</p><p>    Bubby was the next to speak up, his voice still crunched from compression despite being in a Discord voice chat rather than ingame. “So’re you, and you don’t see me complaining. Besides the times that I do.”</p><p>    John mumbled something incoherent into his pillow, then reached out for his phone. The familiar orange of his arm warmer stood out in sharp contrast, and John stared at it for a moment; a memory played out in his mind of one of the rare times he’d run into Az before now, where they’d taken one look at his lambda hoodie and offered him a gift because “you always have your sleeve rolled up, you’re gonna get frostbite once the snow starts”. He’d been grateful, sure, but the gesture had still set him on edge because of <em> why </em> he’d developed that particular fashion choice. (Also, it was an arm warmer that said Half-Life on it in <em> Comic Sans. </em>) He’d convinced himself that there was no way Az knew, that they were just looking out for him, that… </p><p>    He ripped the arm warmer off and flung it out of sight.</p><p>    “<b>HEY,</b>” Benrey yelled. John jumped a little; Benrey had the magical ability to sound like they were trying to eat their lowest-quality microphone whenever they spoke. “i’m talking to you, feetman.”</p><p>    “I don’t wanna fucking hear it, man,” John groaned. The last thing he wanted was to talk to Benrey— No, the last thing he wanted was to talk to <em> Az </em>, but Benrey was a close second. “Just— Shut up, OK? Shut up.”</p><p>    He could easily imagine Benrey giving him The Look™, even without being in the virtual space he’d dumped the AIs into. The guard could come off as disinterested most of the time, and didn’t really bother with expressions asides from occasional unhinged moments, but they had a specific Look™ where they were very, very clearly judging all of the decisions Gordon had made that got them to this moment. “i was trying to tell you,” they said. “they were lying. liarman. azazel, more like… az...hole…”</p><p>    John snorted a little, then remembered he’s supposed to be pissed and his expression crumpled back into barely-suppressed rage. “I told you to <em> shut up</em>, Benrey.”</p><p>    “Now, Gordon,” Dr. Coomer chided him, “there’s no need to be so cruel towards—“</p><p>    “I’m not being <em> CRUEL</em>!” John interrupted. “Did you— Did you guys seriously not hear any of that?! Did you not hear what they <em> said </em> to me?! They fucking— they <em> lied </em> to me, they said they—”</p><p>    “Your phone turned off, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy said in a small voice. “We didn’t hear anything.”</p><p>    The words died in John’s throat. Right. His phone had died, and Az had said he should be better about charging it, and then he’d gotten in his shitty truck and checked it to see that it had more than half battery left. (69%. Nice.) Everyone had been yelling, and his head had started hurting from the sensory and emotional overload, and then his phone had died and he’d been alone with Az.</p><p>    <em> Did Az do that? </em> Fucked up if true.</p><p>    John took a breath, held it, and then let it out slowly. “They told me,” he said in an unsteady tone, “that I was going to find the game anyway. That there was… another time… where I found it on my own, and met you guys, and got fucked up, and was alone.”</p><p>    “This isn’t science fiction, Gordon,” Bubby scoffed. John ignored him for his own sanity.</p><p>    “They said they needed to be here for <em> some reason</em>, and they found out about me, and they decided ‘<em>this guy needs somebody to blame because he’s gonna blame himself otherwise</em>’, and just… retconned themself into my life.” The words felt fake as he said them, but he could still hear Az’s voice echoing in his ears. “And they did! And they knew— they knew about you, they knew about <em> this</em>—” He gestured at his right arm, nevermind the fact that the Science Team couldn’t see him do that. “—they knew <em> everything </em> this <em> entire time </em> and <em> didn’t fucking tell me</em>! They could’ve— They could’ve said ‘<em>hey, be careful playing this game, if you die in it you die in real life and you’re going to have a really long identity crisis and it will suck</em>’! They could’ve said ‘<em>hey, I know things are rough right now, and I know you’re scared, but I—</em>‘ “</p><p>    John’s voice cracked. “ ‘—<em>but I know, and understand, and it’s gonna be OK, and you can talk to me, and…</em>‘ “</p><p>    God, he’s so full of shit. Is he crying? He better not be crying. Crying is lame. Crying sucks and he hates doing it and <em> god he’s probably close to crying</em>. </p><p>    Would he have even listened to Az? Would he have believed them? He didn’t know. But, god, it <em> hurt </em> just about as bad as the knife to his arm had. It hurt knowing that he’d been put through all of this and all this time someone had <em> known </em> and been watching it go down and didn’t <em> say </em> anything. He could’ve gotten help. He could’ve… </p><p>    “Gordon,” Dr. Coomer said in a gentle tone he reserved for rare occasions, “sometimes it is difficult to speak to the ones you care about.”</p><p>    He waited for a response. John didn’t give one.</p><p>    “You care a lot about this ‘Az’ fellow,” Dr. Coomer said. “And, surely, if they went through all of this effort to hide their true nature, they care about you too! I cannot speak for them, of course, but if I had a friend I knew was hurting— was going to hurt— and I could do nothing to warn them, I would do what I could to be there for them. We may not be able to read your ‘Direct Messages’, but Az was always messaging you! Sometimes it would interrupt us while we were playing an exciting round of ‘Prop Hunt’ or watching movies such as the ‘All Dogs Go To Heaven’ Christmas Special.”</p><p>    He could imagine the older scientist’s hand on his shoulder. “If Az was able to tell you, I am sure they would have. Perhaps they did not want to scare you. Knowledge of the great unknown can be quite traumatizing, after all. People who are afraid of the future are often stuck in place, or try too hard to avoid a disaster and cause one that’s far worse. I may not have heard the full conversation, and perhaps this is me projecting a little bit, but… I do not think Az intended to hurt you. In fact, it sounds like they wanted you to be less… <em> alone</em>, John.”</p><p>    “...thanks, Dr. Coomer,” John managed. “I— I don’t know if I can believe that right now, but— thanks.” Hearing the AI use his <em> actual name </em> was rather jarring, considering that the first time he’d done it had been when he was intending to wear him like a meat suit (<em>there’s a hole in my brain</em>, Erik’s voice said in the back of his head, and he shoved that away because <em> nope</em>), but right now it helped hammer in the severity of his words. “Look, no offense, but… I think I need some alone time.” What time was it, even? Before noon, probably. He’d woken up way earlier than usual to try and get to the 7-11 before anything weird happened, and… well, that had failed miserably. Fucking awful start to the day. “I need to sleep.”</p><p>    “The human body is recommended to acquire at least 8 hours of sleep for optimal performance, Gordon!” Dr. Coomer chirped. John gave his phone a thumbs-up.</p><p>    “Yeah. That. Goodnight.”</p><p>    Sleep doesn’t come easy. When it finally does, John finds himself falling into a disorienting nightmare. Everything blends together into yelling and screaming and gunfire and distorted polygons like the scrawled cloud of triangles on the back of the card Erik had given him and Black Mesa and his room and something he’s pretty sure didn’t happen where he’s at the lake and there’s people there and somebody’s attacking one of Erik’s friends and he grabs him because <em> hey, they said you’re not supposed to leave </em> and he feels like he’s going to die.</p><p>    He wakes up, shaking and feeling sick. He tries to sleep again. He dreams about people he doesn’t know and people he <em> does </em> know and chaos and hurt and he wakes up and feels way, way worse. The specifics slip through his fingers like he’s grabbing at water, but all that remains is that he feels <em> bad </em> and like things are only going to get worse from here on out. He wants to stay home. He wants this to be over. He wants to sleep.</p><p>    He tries again. He wakes up again. He tries again. He wakes up again, and this time there’s a knock on his door. He has a conversation with a tall, intimidating Russian man that both answers questions and gives him a lot more, and he eats some shitty cookies, and the cycle of sleep-wake-sleep-wake starts again until he gives up and drags himself out of bed to put on his VR headset and talk to the Science Team.</p><p>    He doesn’t realize that, even though it would make sense for them to be this time, Az isn’t in his dreams. They’re gone.</p>
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